Choice of Words
by Insufferabler R
Summary: Everything that looks simple on the outside turns out overly complicated when delved into. Illogical logic, but apparently true. [YuffieReno]
1. Early Morning Greetings

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**Choice of Words**

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**Disclaimer: **_I claim no ownership to the FFVII compilation (the game as well as all its prequels and sequels)…but the frustrating amount of sarcasm happens to be my own twisted mind's property XD_

**Summary: **_Everything that looks simple on the outside turns out overly complicated when delved into. __Illogical logic, but apparently true.__YuffieReno_

**Warnings: **_Sarcasm…if you're allergic, this is not a suggested reading. Sexual innuendo…though it's kind of light all things considered XD Complicated terminology and probably large amounts of entertaining spelling (I can't spell…just you'll be warned). _

**Brief Introduction: **_To alleviate most of the confusion that this story might cause, let me start by first saying that this will be slightly AU, taking place two years after the game, but not following the plot of Advent Children…and disregarding most of everything that happens after __too :D__Reeve is the newly-inaugurated president of Neo __ShinRa__ and let's, for the sake of this story, forget__ about the WRO altogether. Alright, so that's about it… -nods- If I remember something else, or if you have any questions, you'll see the more information (answers) up top of the next chapter XD_

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**Early Morning Greetings **

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Luck is a fickle bitch, who cannot, under most circumstances, brag of holding one person's company for any significant amount of time and has a nasty habit of leaving her poor victims to their own devices at the most _inopportune _of moments.

What Reno's done to that whore is a mystery all its own, but if the Turk were to take a wild guess—judging by the more than slightly hazardous (for physical health _and_ sanity) predicaments he repeatedly found himself in—it must have been something bad…

…Something _really _bad.

Because despite what many may think, long legs and big, innocent eyes on your couch at three in the morning aren't always consequent as proof of a good night. Especially if said long legs and big, innocent eyes are _cordially blessing—_with choice vilifications—the 'ambiguous he' (Reno had to admit, however: half of what she was saying was not all that far from the truth), the parents of that 'ambiguous he' (or lack thereof—because such a monster couldn't have possibly had a mother), the boss of said 'ambiguous he' (though the red-head could readily agree with everything concerning _that _particular part of his 'guest's' furious ranting), and, of course—the one thing Reno actually had a problem with—, a 'member' of the delegation of appendages that comprise the male body of aforementioned 'ambiguous he'.

'Ambiguous he,' of course, not being any more ambiguous than a neon sign pointing straight at the red-head.

Yes, indeed. Though somewhat disoriented, the Turk still picked up on the word 'impotent' within the girl's _adoring _mutterings that he couldn't tie anywhere else in her speech but to himself.

Of course, Reno was all-powerful (and he knew that very well)—never mind the fact that most would beg to differ. Hey! Just because said 'most' would appreciate to remain in denial of the man's ever-so appealing qualities, didn't mean he didn't know…and didn't take every convenient opportunity to proclaim…the truth!—but the accent on that word 'impotent' simply wasn't in the correct place.

And that little fact turned the fully-accepted—and fully-approved by the red-head himself—compliment into a very, _very _disturbing insult.

Though in truth, even _that _bold statement wasn't exactly what caught Reno's full and undivided attention, prompting the next inquiry:

"I 'do' _what _instead of women?"

…Perhaps, with a little imagination and lots of time spent in the gutter, the reader can surmise what exactly was said by Long Legs to provoke the voiced question without putting the author through the torture of actually having to write it out.

"You're concentrating on entirely the wrong part of the sentence," came an agitated and snapped reply from the female figure…

…on _his _couch...

…in _his _apartment…

…at three in the bloody morning…

"I think I have a right to know what kind of activity I have just been accused of engaging in!"

"I thought you didn't buy into the whole innocent until proven guilty bullshit."

"I don't," Reno rolled his eyes. "I was simply making sure I heard correctly, so perhaps I could provide further graphic detail on my, apparent, 'necrophilia' fetish."

"And so you admit to it!" The voice was sounding slightly more disgusted than the grimace of slowly-forming amusement that presented itself on the delicate features of Long Legs' face.

"I don't kiss and tell," the Turk replied childishly, barely restraining his tongue within the confines of his mouth. Oh, god, he was so tempted to just stick it out at her and look like the six-year-old that Elena firmly believed his brain only developed to the level of (but went no further).

"You're disgusting!"

"I wasn't the one who thought up the ridiculous allegation, missy."

"Perhaps it was ridiculous, but, apparently, not false."

"I don't think I've ever been falsely accused in my life," the red-head shot back with a lazy grin. "All my pegged victims have always, indeed, become victims with much thanks to me."

"You're psychotic!" She pointed an accusing finger at Reno, giving the Turk a suspicious look that dared him to disagree with her conclusion.

"At the moment, that adjective is quite nicely describing _you, _actually."

That earned Reno a rather innocent look from the girl on his couch. Batting long eyelashes at him, she made sure to bring back her stray finger, placing both hands onto her lap and neatly folding them. Long Legs gave the Turk's living room one, quick, cursory sweep with her eyes. Upon not finding another individual within the immediate area that Reno could have been referencing, she turned back to the red-head with a look of practiced surprise on her face

"You couldn't have possibly been talking about me."

"No," the red-head snorted in response. "I was actually talking about the horde of _familiar _women that aren't present." The feint hint at it being about time the girl reveal her identity making its way through his mocking words.

Long Legs, for her part, gave him a curious look.

"I'm familiar."

"You're female, and you're not breaking everything in my apartment." Reno rubbed a hand over his eyes, making them focus again as the orbs were slowly starting to glaze over from lack of sleep. "You're _not _someone who can be identified as familiar."

Deciding not to question his remarks—in light of her lack of desire to achieve full understanding of what the man was talking about (though she had a pretty good idea)—the girl fell silent, giving Reno an expressive look that obviously portrayed her lack of amusement.

"Was I _that _wasted?" came the eventual question from Reno, who was still standing at the door to _his _apartment as any ordinary guest who has not been invited inside.

"I'm pretty sure you were. I don't believe Turtle's Paradise even _has_ soft drinks…forget serving them."

Though she was talking about a certain incident concerning Don Corneo and Reno was referencing intercourse, something clicked in the red-head's sleep-deprived brain nonetheless.

And all of a sudden, Long Legs wasn't all that unfamiliar.

"Brat?"

"As flattered as I am that you finally remembered me," Yuffie deadpanned dryly. "I would still appreciate you dropping that unfitting title!"

"What's unfitting about it?" the Turk teased, letting a small smirk slide onto his lips.

No longer finding this conversation half as entertaining as would have been necessary for her to continue it, Kisaragi turned away from her immediate company snottily, huffing in the process.

Of course, her actions only proved Reno's point, but the Turk had half a brain not to voice such thoughts aloud. The ninja wasn't looking up to tolerating much at the moment…

…And his EMR, being strapped to his belt, would take slightly longer to get to than the shuriken that was—Reno now noticed—resting _innocently _on the couch (right next to Yuffie).

Venturing a step into the room, Reno quickly followed it up with another, closing the door softly once he finally crossed the threshold. Receiving no violent reaction, but still keeping his movements as fluid as possible—rabid animals do, after all, more aggressively respond to sudden actions—the Turk lowered himself onto the armchair, which was situated slightly to the left of the occupied couch.

"So…three in the morning?" Reno prompted curiously after a stretched moment of less-than companionable silence.

"Time difference," came snipped from the ninja. Obviously, Kisaragi was not ready to start speaking civilly; her briefly forgotten fury at the man reappearing.

"It's no surprise that you're not quite sane, but I never would have guessed that your own little world actually functions on a different time table." Reno leaned forward ever so slightly, making sure to assume a convenient position that would, hopefully, help him dodge easily if, by chance, a few sharp objects were, let's say, hurled in his general direction.

"Ha, ha, ha," was the _un_enthusiastic response, followed by a death glare that clearly displayed the ninja's _lack _of amusement despite her mild retort. "Time difference between Wutai and Midgar," she clarified. "Wutai's six hours behind."

"Ah." It was Reno's turn not to sound all that pleased. "So you're as fresh as one can be at nine in the evening, eh?"

A nod and snicker was the red-head's reply, as amused eyes scanned over his exhausted form.

"And you, I see, are as fresh as can be expected of someone at three in the morning."

"Meaning not at all," Reno supplied graciously.

"Meaning not at all," Yuffie echoed with a soft laugh.

"Any particular reason you've invited yourself into my apartment?"

"Couldn't wait to see you!"

"Oh, how touchingly sincere," the Turk deadpanned, leaning back into the armchair he was currently occupying.

"What's wrong, Turkey? Can't quite believe that someone would actually want to see you of their own volition?"

"Lose the pet name."

"Trust me, the day I have a pet name for you is the day I commit suicide."

"And is there anything I could possibly do to push you towards self-injury sooner than that glorious day you speak of comes?" the Turk inquired sarcastically, not putting any spite behind the question.

"Yes. Once you're six feet under, I can rest in peace," Yuffie managed back sullenly, shooting Reno a cynical look that was decidedly lacking in severity—which, consequently, rendered her remark absurd.

"Well, fuck. Now that we've brought this _lively _conversation to that _happy_ little conclusion that one won't die without the other's soon-to-be company, start explaining."

"What?"

Reno wasn't going to grace that undeniably _eloquent _inquiry with a response, but the one finger which presented itself in front of Yuffie's face as an answer didn't quite agree with his mind's rational decision. Though not boasting much eloquence either, Reno's response didn't give Kisaragi much of a choice but to drop her fake ignorance as to what he was talking about and, indeed, start explaining.

"Reeve has an assignment for you."

"And there was such a pressing need for you to tell me about it?...at three in the morning?"

"Your train leaves at six."

"Aw hell, thanks for the tipoff. Now I have all of three hours to get to a train station that's an hour's drive away!" Reno lifted his hands in the air out of frustration, letting them drop back, now sans energy, onto his knees. "And that's an estimate with knocking off a few old ladies along the way."

"I don't see why that's necessary," Yuffie huffed. "Senior citizens can see fast approaching vehicles just as well as anyone!"

"Maybe in Wutai they can, but here, they're all blind."

Yuffie gave him a weary glance, obviously giving up on trying to disprove his statement.

"What? It's true!"

"And back to the point…" Kisaragi offered Reno a pointed look.

"Why couldn't Reeve give me the briefing himself?" the red-head shot off curiously.

"The man's paranoid!" Yuffie exploded, which gave Reno cause to wonder whether her trip—which, it would seem, she thought unnecessary—to his apartment by Reeve's request got her riled up in the first place. "He's afraid of tapped lines or some other such…" she trailed off, waving her hands in an unidentifiable pattern about herself.

"Bullshit?" Reno filled in.

"In any case," she pushed forward, agreeing with the Turk's choice in noun full heartedly. "Reeve's currently in Wutai, at the moment, entertaining Dad's company more than likely. I left for Midgar this morning and was asked to deliver a few things to you."

Digging through the backpack that was carelessly thrown onto the floor at her feet, Yuffie managed to fish out the manila folder—that was slightly thicker than Reno would have liked—and the train ticket. Handing both things over, she nodded her head in concurrence to her finished task, giving Reno a teasing grin.

"You have a bit of light reading," she informed, looking to the folder in his hands that was filled with page upon page of small, black text.

"And I would assume you've read through it already?"

Yuffie paused, look darkening slightly as she regarded Reno.

"Reeve said it was a secret assignment!" she protested.

"Which is why I would assume you've already read through it," Reno pronounced slowly, a small smirk twisting the straight line of his lips.

"I did no such thing," she snipped indignantly.

"Of course not." He wasn't sounding all that convinced—and as anyone who knows Yuffie even remotely would argue: for. good. reason.

"Believe what you want, but I had better things to do than go through your briefing folder."

"Like what?"

"Like take an unhealthy dose of tranquilizers not to feel the bloody turbulence, that's what!"

"So the only reason you haven't scanned the information was because you were knocked out?"

"Why else wouldn't I read through a set of secret reports and outlines, hm?"

Reno couldn't hold back a chuckle at that. And here he thought she was vying for the title of a dignified individual who respected the word 'secret.'

_'Tough luck,' _the Turk thought amusedly to himself, now watching Yuffie rise to her feet.

"Feeling a bit bitter, brat?"

"You're wasting your precious time," she reminded him, for she was, indeed, feeling bitter…and wasn't about to admit to any such thing.

Picking up her backpack, the ninja slung it over her shoulder, readjusting it until the weight wasn't weighing down her worn out muscles as much. Taking her shuriken, she placed the weapon into a special set of holders on her bag, allowing the metal to cling slightly as it connected with the million unnecessary zippers that adorned the backpack.

"Two more questions," Reno halted her progress when she finally turned towards the door. "First, why was I at fault for Reeve's paranoia that you deigned it necessary to colorfully insult me for it?"

"Imagine Reeve and his pet cat, will you? How more innocent-looking can you get? It's not like I could stay mad at the man for any extended period of time." Yuffie grinned, turning back towards the Turk only to start backpedaling to the door.

"Good point," Reno had to agree with a nod and amused grin. "Second, will my lock need changing now that you've properly mauled it to get inside my apartment?"

"Probably," came the lazy response, stretched on all the vowels, as Yuffie disappeared from the red-head's line of sight altogether. The door opened briefly—to allow Kisaragi to slip into the hallway—and closed softly soon after—to hide the ninja's amused features.

TBC…

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**A/N: **_Thank you for taking the time read through this! I hope you've enjoyed…at least slightly. Though this chapter doesn't have much '__cept__ two smart mouths, hopefully it kept you entertained enough to pick up on the mystery that's about to __follow :D__ It should be…interesting, I'd suspect. Though, I'd absolutely adore hearing your opinions! Love it? Hate it? Should back down on sarcasm? Should bring up the amount of sexual innuendo? You get the point XD_

_Thanks!_

_Red._

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	2. Pink Gum to Red Alert

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**Choice of Words**

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**Disclaimer: **_I claim no ownership to the FFVII compilation (the game as well as all its prequels and sequels)...but the annoying blonde with the strawberry-flavored gum is all my own imagination—which, of course, was thought up simply for the purpose of driving Reno crazy. _

**Summary: **_Everything that looks simple on the outside turns out overly complicated when delved into. Illogical logic, but apparently true. YuffieReno. _

**Warnings: **_Sarcasm...too many commas and dashes...and unnecessarily difficult terminology on phrasing most things. Spelling isn't my forte, please be warned. _

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**Pink Gum to Red Alert **

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For those lucky (cursed) few who could claim Reno's acquaintance on more amiable, than the custom victim-perpetrator—one guess as to who the perpetrator is—terms, even scrounging up the audacity to _consider _that the red-head has all his screws in place would present itself as an impossible feat. For certainly, when analyzing a man such as, one, Reno of the Turks, a set of words with even remotely similar denotations to that of 'sane' doesn't so much as _threaten _to come to mind. However, despite all his glorious lack of sanity, Reno—fortunately or unfortunately is well worth arguing over—cannot be labeled as suicidal.

And therein lies the problem.

Resting innocently on the edge of the Turk's bed, black, bold shrift newly-printed on yellow, mockingly colorful paper, the man's just-received train ticket was offering exactly that which Reno did not have the inclination to accept any time soon.

Mainly: suicide.

How else could one possibly define a semi-voluntary trip to Junon...?

...for a Turk, no less...?

...especially one as conspicuous as Reno...?

Reeve could masterly orate the forgiveness of grievances all he wanted. It still didn't change the fact that his well-prepared, well-thought out speeches were no more true than Reno's evasively vague promises to Elena pertaining to the Turk's apparent wish (bullshit) to quit drinking. Of course, keeping in mind that the red-head's inclination to lower his alcohol consumption was just about as strong as a tax payer's wish to part with his hard-earned money, there was only one conclusion to Reno's cooing and calming commentary: tax evasion...or more to the point, liver failure. Now transferring that analogy to Reeve's over-the-top enthusiasm and almost child-like naivete, let's just say Reno wasn't betting—or if betting, then only the next available passerby's (the more innocent the better) left leg and right arm—on his safe return from Junon.

_'If I'll have the luck of returning at all,' _was the friendly reminder from the red-head's ever so innocently amiable mind. How he hated that thing.

Not that the Turk was a coward, far from it—after regular brush-ins with high chances of being shot, lynched, impaled, drowned, or otherwise, fear becomes somewhat limited in its arousal—, but the goal of being chased around by a mob with pitchforks and who knows what kind of other curious paraphernalia, has not yet, for some _odd _reason, become one of those top priorities for the man.

In other words, Reeve would soon receive a greeting card from Costa del Sol with the most sincere, from the bottom of Reno's (inexistent) heart, 'fuck-you's.'

Right...

And that's exactly why Reno found himself at the train station, at five forty-five in the bloody morning, lethargically walking about platform number six, along the length of Junon's early morning train, in search of the first carriage...that wasn't there. After checking, rechecking, and glaring at the cornea-damagingly bright train ticket in his left hand—and giving himself a headache, for, indeed, the yellow color of the aforementioned ticket was a little brighter than might have been desired—, Reno got the distinct impression that luck was, yet again, not going to be lenient towards him.

Stalking, with utmost importance, foolishly thinking he actually had the right to do so, towards the nearest ticket booth, Reno nonchalantly presented the vibrant display of overly chirpy yellow paper to the woman sitting behind the counter. Expecting the silent question to be understood—or rather, hoping it would be (in light of the fact that Reno wasn't about to trust his sleep-deprived brain to come up with anything remotely comprehensible)—the red-head leaned onto the wall next to said ticket booth, calmly waiting for an explanation. The action, surprisingly enough, prompted a rather _polite _response from the female in question.

"What d'ya want?"

Reno _hoped _that his ears were mistaken, for he was almost certain that the less-than agreeable inquiry was followed up with a _well-mannered _'pop' of pink, strawberry-flavored gum. Tired, hungry, and now more than mildly concerned with the, questionably, successful completion of his new assignment, Reno was feeling _less _inclined, than usual,—and that's saying something if considering the Turk's general lack of predisposition, even _without _his bothersome state of being,—to tolerate such cheeky attitude.

Upon consideration, the brat was probably at fault for that. Most all of Reno's self-restraint was already drained by the time he got to the train station to accommodate Kisaragi's, still, breathing state. And yet, with a tremendous amount of effort, Reno manged not to throttle the unnecessarily rude woman.

_'Why, that would have been most ungentlemanly,' _Reno mused to himself.

Though, in all truth, the lack of one more death on the red-head's hands had nothing to do with etiquette...and had everything to do with the mildly stinging sensation that accompanied even the slightest movements of his frame.

"I want you to point me to carriage number one, as per what my ticket says. You _can _read what it says, can't you?"

Perhaps having more mental capacity than the Turk originally estimated, the young woman caught onto his less than subtle jest at her expense, sending a potent scowl in the man's general direction. Reno, needless to say, was dually impressed. Not only did she manage to comprehend what he said, she also had the ability to muster different facial expressions!

_'Now only if she could show herself capable of responding in at least a mildly relevant fashion,' _was the only sardonic thought that swam through the Turk's mind, as he nonchalantly regarded the mildly enraged female in question.

"You askin' the wrong person, mister. Gotta go talk to the train op.," the blonde responded slowly, as if contemplating screeching one unpleasant thing or another at the Turk's mocking inquiry.

"And would you be so kind as to direct me to him?"

Needless to say, Reno was coming up with the most inventive (unnecessarily complicated) way of phrasing his question. For, really, a simple 'where he at?' would have done the trick. Then again, a simple 'where he at?' wouldn't have rewarded the red-head with the look of priceless puzzlement settling over the gum-chewing individual's features, as she, obviously not used to even the slightest bit of formality, struggled with grasping what exactly he said. After a moment of stretched silence, the woman did, to Reno's mental applause, manage to formulate a response that actually—god forbid—addressed the red-head's question.

"In the first carriage."

_'Helpful,' _Reno drawled to himself with an outward roll of unimpressed, aquamarine orbs.

"And where is the first carriage?" he jostled the woman.

Now, to say that Reno was expecting an answer to that rhetoric would be foolish. In fact, he expected perhaps a glare, and a string of swears and curses hurled in his general direction. So, one can only imagine the red-head's surprise, when not doing either, the woman threw her hands in the air in frustration and actually answered him.

"I told you! Ask the op."

Now thoroughly curious, the red-head decided to push it further.

"And where's the train operator?"

"You deaf, mister? In the first carriage."

Reno sighed. Somehow, he wasn't doubting that if he were to start the circle of questions over again, she wouldn't catch his ill-intent in doing so.

_'Then,' _Reno's mind piped promptly, _'it'd be beneficial for both, her sanity and mine, to leave the poor woman alone.' _

Stellar logic, but it hardly saved the situation from the fact that Reno's Reno.

"And where's the first carriage?"

The woman opened her mouth to respond, leaving the question of exactly how long Reno would be standing in front of the ticket booth unanswered. But, as one can easily guess, the mentioned period of time would be mildly (if not alarmingly) extended. Or, to be more precise, would _have been _alarmingly long, if only for not one very disturbing—not to many a passerby, but certainly to Reno—sound, ripping through the semi-quiet, morning fabric of the train station.

A train whistle reached the red-head's ears, with its piercing note of farewell wishes, signifying the departure of _some _early morning train...

...leaving from the sixth platform...

...now at exactly six in the morning.

Grabbing the yellow ticket from its perch on the counter, Reno didn't wait to listen (thankfully) to the large amount of less-than flattering, parting terms that followed his rushing form, as the man gracefully sprinted after the slowly moving train.

Perhaps 'sprinted after' would be a tad of an exaggeration. For in all truth, he didn't get that far. Not far at all.

Maybe he didn't even have the time to pick up his pace to a sprint, actually.

And the word 'graceful' could definitely be dropped if the red-head's actions were to be described in a more or less factual manner.

Alright, alright! So he turned around and took a step when colliding with a smaller, slimmer body than his own and toppling onto his unfortunate (unplanned) victim.

Oh, how easily sweeping and dramatic statements lose all their charm, huh?

Now with the option of 'gracefully sprinting after the slowly moving train' being thrown out the window, Reno growled into the black locks of short hair that happened to invade his less-than pleasant grimace of irritation. The cocaine-high-type giggling from the blonde behind him, of course, wasn't helping the red-head regain his quickly-draining semblance of, at the very least, mild serenity.

"Would you get off me!?"

Reno's eyes widened.

Bracing his feet and hands against the cool concrete of the ground below him, the red-head hoisted himself into a position of leverage, hovering over that _painfully _familiar individual under him. With a groan, Reno slung his body to sprawl next to the raven-haired girl, glaring at the dark, starless sky above him.

_'So which one of you bastards up there has this sick sense of humor?' _the man pondered irritably.

There was a moment of strained silence between the three individuals on the corner of the sixth platform, disturbed only by the distant rumble of heavy thunder. Reno's glare intensified as a direct effect.

_'Take your own advice, curb your sadistic tendencies, and start atoning!' _

In case the goal of the previous statement wasn't quite obvious, that was the red-head's ditch effort at pleading against the obviously worsening weather.

Well, whoever's attention Reno's bitter musings happened to catch, apparently, wasn't all that appreciative of the Turk's sense of irony, as Reno's sought response from above (literally) came in the form of cold—_very _cold—rainwater.

And to think that people, in past, numerous instances, actually gathered enough audacity to question his lack of spiritualism.

Hearing a sharp intake of breath and a rustle of clothing beside him, Reno figured that the brat—surprise, surprise?—jumped to her feet and was scrambling to get out of the downpour. Wishing to do something to a similar extent, it was with great frustration that the Turk understood that he...couldn't. His efforts at doing something as remotely active as _getting up _were simply not going to pay off, the man realized. The bitter conclusion, consequently, pushing Reno to do exactly that which he ended up doing: crawling on all fours to the inner sanctuary of the train station.

Mildly surprised, but hardly able to do more than briefly note the act of kindness, the Turk watched his backpack being slung over Kisaragi's shoulder from the corner of his eye, as the girl rushed to opened the door for him to crawl through.

Settling on the smooth, chilled surface of the patterned train station floor, Reno managed to mold himself into something that, at the very least, resembled a sitting position, giving his bag, which was dropped unceremoniously next to his (almost) inert form, a wary glance.

Noticing the Turk's apprehensive look at his backpack, Yuffie ran a nervous hand through her hair, now realizing just how foolish the action of dropping his bag could have proved if only some semblance of luck wasn't on her side.

"You don't have explosives in there, do you?" she wondered aloud, half in jest, half in genuine curiosity.

"And you ask that _after _you so unceremoniously mistreated my belongings?" Reno snipped reproachfully, turning his tired gaze to the ninja.

The Turk could sense Yuffie's bubbling annoyance, but could do nothing but smirk at the girl's small, clenched fists. As amusing as the ruffle-feathered display of furious one meter, fifty eight centimeters was, however, it did not serve to hold Reno's attention in place long enough to distract the red-head's ears from picking up on a loud (deafening) rawr of erupting flames from the outer part of the sixth platform.

Smartly staying in place, the duo of forced acquaintances exchanged puzzled looks, eyes following the increase of frantic activity, as if from a greater distance than that of approximately ten meters, as the train station employees began rushing about the sixth platform in an almost hypnotic pattern.

After a moment of tense, stretched silence, came the opportunity of one short individual in a mechanic's uniform running past Reno, who's progress the Turk halted, curiously inquiring as to what was going on.

"The early train to Junon, sir," the man replied slowly, trying to will the traumatic expression off his face. "It just exploded."

Perhaps luck wasn't as dead-set against the red-head as Reno often felt the urge to complain.

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**A/N: **_-ducks under the first large piece of furniture she sees and pleads that she be spared- I apologize for this late update. What's sad is that I had it half-written for over two weeks now, and still didn't get the time to finish it. Let's just say college professors are...-insert vulgar term of choice here- But..here the second chapter is, nonetheless, and I already have a plan for the third one, so that shouldn't take too long to get up as well. -sheepish grin- Hope this was enough to placate you for a bit: perhaps a week at most. Tell me what you think!_

_Thanks!_

_Red._

**so-mi: **_I do thank you for the feedback, for you really managed to quench my fears concerning the flow. I don't like when stuff turns out choppy :D I do apologize once again for being late with the update, but, hopefully, you can forgive me for that one )_

**Kaikai PANTS: **_Addicted, huh? -rubs hands in evil scientist fashion- Excellent! -coughs- I mean..that's not like it's my plan to convert the world to Reffie-ism or anything...-coughs- Right...Well, in any case, I'm glad you enjoyed it, and please, don't even mention the late update. I know! -headdesk- Thanks so much for the wonderful review, though!_

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	3. Coffee?

**Choice of Words**

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**Disclaimer: **_I claim no ownership to the FFVII compilation (the game as well as all its prequels and sequels)...Reno's coffee obsession is my own imagination, though. Perhaps it has something to do with my own caffeine addiction. _

**Summary: **_Everything that looks simple on the outside turns out overly complicated when delved into. Illogical logic, but apparently true. YuffieReno. _

**Warnings: **_Sarcasm...too many commas and dashes...and unnecessarily difficult terminology on phrasing most things. Spelling isn't my forte, please be warned. Oh, yes, and I'm very wordy. _

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**Coffee?**

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"Coffee."

"Yes."

"I asked for coffee."

"Yes."

"This is _not _coffee."

"It's coffee."

"It's not even brown."

"It's manila colored."

"So it's not coffee."

"It's coffee. It just has cream in it."

"You put cream into something that could potentially be labeled my life blood?"

"…Yes?"

It was a half an hour prior to this very _eloquent_ discussion that, to Reno's surprise, Yuffie volunteered to get him a cup of coffee that he's been whining about not having. Needless to say, the cooperative nature of the offer earned Kisaragi quite the suspicious look from the red-head, but everything was promptly explained once Reno spotted a uniformed individual—no doubt an agent from the Neo ShinRa Headquarters—heading towards the duo. Upon turning curiously to the little ninja, who was supposed to be at his side, the Turk no longer found it all that surprising that she was missing, scurrying away, so _accommodatingly_, to get him his coffee.

In fact, Reno didn't find it very surprising that she mysteriously vanished for the next half an hour.

During the girl's disappearance act, the red-head was thoroughly questioned about everything he knew. Any attempt to get away from the irritating director of investigations ended in more suspicion and more useless queries. It should be noted here that the inquiries were cycling about the same topic, asking practically the same exact thing over and over again. They were, however, phrased in a variety of ways, which made life difficult for Reno, as the answers had to keep changing for the soul reason that the questions were posed differently.

After the irritating company representative finally decided that the Turk really knew nothing of the explosion,—or, at least, nothing that was of much worth to the investigation—he left Reno alone, wondering pompously back towards the train tracks, where he promptly feinted upon seeing the charred remains of one of the passengers dug up to the surface from the earlier explosion.

Reno had to give bonus points to the fried passenger for that. The uniformed bastard deserved the humiliation.

A light breeze moved the sleeve of the Turk's jacket slightly almost instantly upon the departure of the Neo ShinRa official, and the man realized immediately that the little nuisance of a ninja was back at his side. Reno was, in fact, quite shocked when she actually did have a cup of coffee to offer him, along with a sheepish smile, in response to the heated glare he sent in her direction. Once the muted exchange was finished, however, the Turk looked down at the cup, now in his hands, only to start up the vocal discussion, which was already noted, pertaining to whether or not what Yuffie brought him was actually coffee.

"Brat…"Reno tried politely, only to break his attempted cordiality by throwing the so-called cup of coffee into the nearest trash can. "Go away."

"You're very welcome," the little ninja retorted dryly. "You don't have to thank me so profusely. It's just coffee," she drawled, the words covered in a thick layer of sarcasm.

"It's _not _coffee!"

"Well, whatever it was, it's no more," the kid noted unhappily. "And it's all your fault!" she accused.

"Oh, do accept my apologies," Reno shot back dryly. "I suppose we should start the funeral processions for the poor, dearly departed cup of _not _coffee? Where's a bloody deacon when you need one, anyway?" he mused, taking a cursory glance about the surrounding area.

"Reno…"

One would have to give the fuming brat points for effort. She tried. She really tried to retort verbally—and _only _verbally.

Her attempt, however, didn't end with any amount of notable success, and Yuffie went lunging for the Turk at the same time that he, surprisingly, moved towards her.

In fact, his pitched forward weight froze the ninja before she could inflict damage, or, actually, even decide upon an optimal method of injuring the red-head. This gave Reno a nice opportunity to complete his own, much more thought out, actions. A friendly, but stern, arm soon wrapped its way about Kisaragi's shoulders, leading the mutely cooperative girl towards the train station exit and, presumably, to Reno's car.

"Turkey?"

Initial shock wearing off, the kid actually was gathering up enough gull to start protesting, but the expression on the red-head's face was so far off from his usual smug apathy, that Yuffie smartly decided to remain innocently curious instead of downright enraged.

"Having overstayed our welcome, we're just going to happily disappear in a more or less prompt fashion," Reno told her with some amount of mock cheer, pulling the kid closer in case she decided to bolt. The red-head didn't even want to imagine what Reeve would do to him if the brat was found in a ditch with a few limbs missing. "I'll explain later, deal?"

Kisaragi nodded mutely, going along with him for the time being. She wasn't all that certain what so greatly startled the Turk, but whatever it was, she certainly wasn't looking forward to finding out first-hand.

Of course, as usually happens where Yuffie and Reno are concerned, the amount of luck on their side was terribly lacking.

Nine, eight, seven, six feet to the exit, and the glass double doors started opening of their own accord. Someone was entering from the outside. In any other situation that would not freeze one overly serious Turk and his company of one very confused ninja, but the circumstances they were currently under weren't all that favorable, and the duo stopped their progress as one…

…for. good. reason.

"Think that's an AK47?" Yuffie chirped with a nervous smile, looking at the semi-automatic rifle which went walking through the door before its owner.

"Maybe?"

And then said rifle was pointed at them, and there was a general bout of panic from the already edgy passengers and staff.

"Regardless," Kisaragi tried one more time, looking up at Reno. "Run?"

"Run," he nodded in full agreement…for once.

A skipped beat later, a barrage of bullets hit the spot previously occupied by the unfortunate duo of unlikely comrades, the mismatched pair having bolted, tearing off through the crowd and down the corridor, which was by that point flooded with scurrying, alarmed people. Turning two consecutive corners, Reno eventually grabbed hold of Yuffie's forearm, tugging her, gentler than he intended, towards the fourth platform.

Fortunately, some merciful deity smiled down upon the pathetic attempt at an escape, and upon arriving at the aforementioned fourth platform, the pair was greeted with the happy sight of a departing train. Not minding where exactly said train would take them, the red-head continued tugging the little ninja along with him and into the closest carriage, offering the conductor his Neo ShinRa tag by way of substitution for the tickets, which neither the teenager nor the Turk had.

They were admitted, of course, claiming a pair of seats towards the back of the carriage.

"You know, brat," Reno ventured after a moment of heavy silence. "I think that _was_ an AK47."

"Told you so!"

And suddenly, the atmosphere was no longer all that heavy. She continued ranting and complaining, and Reno could only catch about half of the words that were coming out of her mouth. Though by no means an exact replica of what the kid had in mind upon delivering her furious rant, the man distinctly picked up on something about Valentine, guns, and the unfairness of him not teaching the Princess to handle the weaponry.

"Because, you know," she concluded. "I'd totally kick ass."

Her Royal Highness eventually trailed off into an uncomfortable silence, and Reno floundered for the reason before he, himself, remembered something.

"Kid, why did you come to the train station?"

Silence.

"Kid?"

"Well…" she trailed off, looking decidedly uneasy, and Reno's lightened mood dropped.

"Well, what?"

"You see…I…well…" she muted the rest of her unsure sentence, and the red-head turned fully towards her, taking in the whole nervous ensemble he was faced with.

"Well, what?" he prompted one more time.

"Well…"

"Well, what, Yuffie?"

"The file had a note attached to the outside of it, but the paper clip went flying, so it was left in my backpack," the kid explained sheepishly, giving Reno a pathetic little look.

To the Turk's chagrin, he was not immune to the girlish charm. Then again, a missing note didn't sound all that bad. Perhaps the matter touched upon in the attachment was trivial.

"Can I see the bloody thing?" he prompted gruffly, being granted his request in a heartbeat.

Reading and rereading the crumpled piece of paper that was handed to him, Reno couldn't help but take Yuffie's hand and bite her index finger, hard, for lack of any better option for venting his frustration.

"I hate you, brat."

Yuffie winced and nodded.

"I know."

The note was left unfolded in the Turk's lap, facing up and towards the two mutely conversing individuals:

'_Reno—_

_Take the train ticket and reschedule your trip for tomorrow. _

—_Reeve' _

* * *

Artistic cruelty, more so than most other forms of brutality, tends to possess that indescribable, yet oh-so familiar, disturbing quality that repulses just as much as it draws in. Certainly, the thought of blood displayed on a white wall, smeared in an appealing shape that bears feint resemblance to contemporary art is not a happy one, but begs the rather natural question of how exactly said blood got on the aforementioned wall. It is, indeed, a curious occurrence how something that is not particularly pleasant to dwell on still prompts the mind to become occupied with the thought of it for a much longer period of time than should have been expected—or desired, for that matter.

Undoubtedly, Reno's, unfortunate, opportunities to test the afore stated conjecture on his own psyche are in abundance, but over the years, his tolerance for allowing disturbing imagery to serve as the focal point of his thoughts decreased considerably. Perhaps age was a factor, or maybe Reeve's employment had a say in the matter, but whatever the case may have been, the gruesome picture, neatly splitting Reno's latest assignment file at the three-quarters mark, startled the red-head more than anticipated. Not so much because of the originality of the crime scene,—he has, after all, seen plenty worse—but rather because of the painfully familiar-looking burn marks, which stood out in hues of black and red, scorching the victim's body.

If Reno were to take a wild guess,—though said guess would probably not be all that wild, and perhaps not even a guess at all,—the perpetrator's weapon of choice was something that has been a familiar presence at the red-head's side through almost a decade: mainly, an EMR. Reno's was quite the rare make, of course, seeing as it was the original ShinRa model. Upon the company's ruin, its arsenal of precious weaponry was destroyed, only a few pieces of the elaborate collection, eventually, recovered. But despite the unfortunate—or, arguably, fortunate—fact, EMR travesties, though not in common use, have become more or less popular after the Meteor Crisis. Somewhat ironic that at the same time Reeve was attempting to tighten the regulations on the possession of weapons.

What worried Reno, however, thinking back on the picture that has become a somewhat permanent stencil in his mind, was the degree of familiarity that the scene carried. Perhaps much less clean, but the homicide came close to mirroring the red-head's own master pieces—if they could, crudely, be called that. All things considered, the perpetrator's EMR model had to be ShinRa's own, and that could lead to any number of unpleasant conjectures pertaining to the identity of the killer. Having been able to attain a ShinRa model EMR certainly placed this mystery individual closer to home than would have been comfortable. And that's all without even so much as mentioning who the victim was—another unpleasant complication, mind you.

Indeed, Reno couldn't have found a better guarantee for a headache than a few hours spent studying his latest assignment file that was about to, undoubtedly, ruin the next few weeks of his life. It came as an almost upsetting realization for the Turk that his bag, despite everything it contained, wouldn't be able to offer him any migraine cure. After all, under the threat of a headache or not, his male pride just wouldn't allow Reno to carry around a bottle of pills. Actually, his male pride wouldn't allow him to be caught in possession of quite a few things that he'd rather have occasionally: case in point, tranquilizers. The aforementioned he'd really appreciate, especially currently, sitting on a train, stuck with nothing but a thick folder of gruesome pictures and boring text for company, along with one sleeping brat.

Then again, maybe such company would have been preferable, seeing as the alternative really made Reno reconsider his mused complaints.

* * *

**A/N: **_This would be a good time to spin out some good lie about how I've been overly busy, which is true to an extent, and how I haven't even had a free minute, which is a complete lie, to post the update. Truth be told, however, I had writer's block. In fact, at some point, I was really doubting whether I knew where this story was going at all –ducks thrown vegetables and almost a half a year's worth of rotten fruits- I know where this is going now, though! =) My apologies! I'm getting back into it. Promise!_

_Thanks!_

_Red._

* * *

**Cheshy: **_Wordy is good! Wordy is damn good. My apologies for making you wait so long. If you'd like, I can offer you to go back to squealing over the Reno/Yuffie interactions… I purposefully included a lot of them this chapter XD Thank you for your kind review, and I hope the plot's starting to get flushed out. _

**Kaikai PANTS: **_I'm so glad you're enjoying this! And, god, I'm so sorry for the late update. I hope you'll be pacified with this a little :D I promise, I know where I'm going with this now! Thanks so much for you review!_

**AmbivalentAngyl: **_-bows- Thank you, and I hope, with this update, I didn't disappoint!_


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